More than the sum of our dreams.

It is most definitely spring here. The weather has decided to grace us with all its unpredictable glory, and when I am home, I get to watch it move in across the harbour.

I love my new place. It is what I have wanted in an apartment – sure, there are bits and pieces that I don’t have, but I can lie in bed in the sun, I can open the windows and hear the birds, and I can look out and see the water. My stuff is here. My books are here. My yarn is here.

I have also rejoined the world of the gainfully employed, and it is a joy to be able to say that. It was 3 months to the day that I didn’t have a job – or rather – couldn’t physically do a job for the vast majority of that, and it’s amazing to think it was that long for me. I’m nearing the end of my second week, and it is very clear to me now that this damned illness took far more out of me than even I suspected. Between that and the needing to use my brain to navigate the ins and outs of what is essentially a very big piece of work with a significant body of internal politics behind it – I find myself utterly drained and in dire need of a couch and a blanket in silence most days. Of course, I think I’ve only managed that once so far, but I may need to listen to my body more often nowadays, I get the feeling that I’ve lost more in energy reserves and I don’t know if I’m going to get them back.

But enough of that nonsense. I am finishing WIPs (a sleeve, some lovely bits for my gorgeous cousin who is expecting her first sprog – and I’m very excited about these pieces, a never-ending sock, some everlasting gloves…) because it is coming up to present season and I have a few I want to get done before the beginning of 2014. And now that I have all my pretty squishiness with me, I may need to do an honest audit of it and update my yarn stash on ravelry. Something I haven’t done since joining the site in 2007 (6 years already?! – I remember waiting for my invite when it went beta).

But with the turning of the seasons, the settling into routines, and getting used to the joys and heartaches my days bring me, this was posted on vimeo and facebook. I have watched some of these people compete and trained with a couple on Gili too. It is a lovely piece, but there is a quote that really struck me, as it seems to sum up what a good friend was trying to explain to me after what I considered a fairly frustrating training session for me on Tuesday. But then, they’ve all been very difficult since getting back in the water – this one should have been a quiet celebration instead of me kicking myself.

The quote, about midway through this pieces says:

You try. And most of the times[sic] you fail. Failure is not bad, failure is a way to grow, and then you grow and learn again.

It was a quote that made the world pause when I snuck a look at the video between meetings today. It was something I think I’ve needed to hear and be reminded of. I do expect far too much of myself. I know this. There is a code of honour and something something achieve the impossible in this mindset. I am now old enough and reluctantly wise enough to know that this is not healthy. But damn, trying to moderate this type of thinking is so difficult.

So to turn failure into a lesson and growth rather than apparent weakness… it resonated. It is a frank appraisal of freediving, and anything you set out to work towards, to be honest. I’ve done it repeatedly in my knitting and my writing. Why shouldn’t I apply it to my diving? I used that attitude in pole classes and with boxing. Why is it so frustratingly difficult to do so in everyday life?

Maybe I am very analytical after all. Once I understand why (or at least, have some form of explanation), I can work with a situation, scenario, or context. Maybe I need to undo all the training my mind has had in order to answer these questions. Maybe they’ll help me sleep better at night. Could it be the secret to “letting it go” that I hear others speak about? Thinking too hard at this time of night is probably not a good thing either.

But we are a week out from the beginnings of the Festival of the Scorpio, and the time of reflection and rumination by people far more interesting than I, and (mostly) live in a prematurely early fire-torn NSW. It is far too early in the season for them to be dealing with what they are, and I am concerned for them. We are all so frustratingly helpless in the face of Mother Nature’s might.

Ruminations will abound, I’m sure, but for now I have a few rows to go, some hot tea to finish, and a bed that calls.